


Baby's First Chrismukkah

by littlescienceloves



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Chrismukkah, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Future Fic, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2813186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlescienceloves/pseuds/littlescienceloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz decides (without any real basis) that he is part Jewish and attempts to bring the Chrismukkah spirit to the base... Much to a very pregnant Simmons' dismay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby's First Chrismukkah

“Fitz, are you sure?” Simmons asked, looking down at the tablet. 

He nodded. “Jem, it’s not a big deal.”

Simmons raised an eyebrow. “I just want to make sure you are alright with—”

“Jemma,” he said simply. 

She sighed. “Well, I think we should talk about why we’re doing this, because I don’t really think this will concern the baby. But apparently that—”

“Jemma,” he said again. 

She handed him the tablet. “Alright, I’ve broken the information down by region. As we already knew, most of your family is Scottish. But there are some DNA markers that indicate that… he had Eastern European roots, about a quarter of—”

But Fitz quickly cut her off. “I’m Jewish. I should have known.”

Simmons barely managed a “What?”

“It’s the curls,” he nodded to himself. “Dead giveaway.” 

“Fitz, by no means did this analysis indicate that you have any Jewish ancestry,” Simmons pointed out. 

But Fitz seemed completely absorbed in this new (false) information. Obviously, this was going to be a problem. 

* * *

The first thing Simmons noticed when she walked to the medical wing that morning (she had been banned from the lab for the next two and a half months) was that someone had done a good deal of decorating overnight. And that someone was most definitely her husband. 

On November 1st, Skye had insisted on preparing the Playground for Christmas. A tree in the lounge (which they had all decorated), lights lining the halls, cheesy cardboard cutouts of reindeer and stockings plastered to the walls. 

Now, placed between the Christmas cutouts, Simmons could clearly make out menorahs and dreidels. 

When did he even find time to buy those? she thought, staring at the new decorations. 

That afternoon, on her way to the kitchen, she found him teaching Skye, Hunter, and Trip how to play dreidel. 

“You just spin… no, I’ll get it this time,” Fitz smacked Skye’s hand. 

“I was just trying to help,” Skye sighed, leaning against the table. 

“This one means I get all the candy, right?” Hunter asked, twirling a dreidel between his fingers. 

Trip was the only one who noticed Simmons standing by one of the windows outside the lab. He shrugged in response to her disapproving look. 

Then, that night, she caught Fitz lighting a menorah with Bobbi and Mack. 

“I thought you said it’s the fourth night,” Bobbi said. “Don’t you need five candles. The one that you use to light the others, that doesn’t count, right?”

“Of course it counts,” Fitz said, holding the lighter. 

When they were finally in their room, Simmons decided it best to broach the subject. 

“Fitz,” she started. “We need to talk about—”

He cut her off. “Mack put the fire out immediately.”

“Wait, what?” she asked, propping herself up against some pillows. 

“Right. Not that. You were saying?” Fitz climbed into bed next to her. 

Simmons decided it was best to ignore that last comment. “About your heritage,” she tried again. “I know you’ve been thinking about this a lot, with the baby on the way and all. But I need to emphasize this. You are not Jewish.”

“Ah, Jemma, you just don’t understand my people.”

“Oh, right. Your people. Can you even tell me one thing about ‘your people’?” Simmons asked. 

“Um… well… there’s this thing called matzo ball soup,” Fitz managed. 

“Did you learn anything about the culture that isn’t food related?” Simmons sighed. 

“Latkes? Brisket?”

“Of course,” she rolled her eyes. “That does not count.” She snuggled up to his side. “If you want to have an actual conversation about this…”

But Fitz merely said “Goodnight,” and turned off the lamp on his nightstand.

* * *

The following night was the Shield Holiday Party (arranged largely by Skye and Trip). 

Simmons hadn’t seen her husband all day. He wasn’t in the kitchen (typically a good bet) or their room. She couldn’t even find him in the lab (all five times she anxiously walked by). It had been a slow day in the medical wing since Coulson had decided to hold off on any missions, what with the ‘company party.’ Not that Simmons minded. She was rather happy when her friends were not in danger. 

So she put on a holiday jumper (the special, rather large one his mum had sent her earlier that month) and went to the party alone. 

Trip and Skye had spent the majority of the day transforming the garage, using tinsel, ornaments, and far more mistletoe than was reasonably necessary. There was a banner that read “Merry Chrismukkah.” Clearly her husband’s doing. 

“Look, it’s the not so virginal Mary,” Skye beamed, wrapping her arm around Jemma’s shoulder. 

“Oh dear. How much eggnog has she had?” Simmons asked Trip. 

“Only a few cups. We’re drunk on the Christmas spirit,” Trip smirked. Skye nodded into Simmons neck. 

“Have you by any chance seen my husband? Grumpy, adorable, convinced he’s Jewish.”

Skye pointed to the corner. 

And there he was, standing alone, arms crossed. He had on a blue jumper. It took Simmons a moment to realize that there was a pattern of Stars of David on the front. 

“Dr. Fitzsimmons,” she said, walking over. 

“Dr. Dr. Fitzsimmons,” he smiled slightly. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said pointedly. 

“I— no… I, um—”

But Simmons did not let him finish. Instead she pulled him outside, dragging him into an empty hallway. 

“Alright. We’re doing this,” she said. “No, not that,” she added, in response to his rather hopeful look. “We’re in a hallway. Someone could walk over.”

“That didn’t stop us in the lab,” he pointed out, eyeing his wife’s belly. 

She lightly smacked his arm. “Fitz, this is serious. Let me say this. You are not your father.”

“I don’t know what you m—”

Simmons ignored him and continued. “You aren’t going to leave or fail or whatever ridiculous notion you seem to have in your head. This baby is going to have both her parents, alright!”

Fitz nodded. 

“Good. Now we have a, oh lord I can’t believe I’m saying this, …Chrismukkah party to get back to. And then, maybe, if you behave, we can do that other thing. Preferably in our bunk.”

Fitz nodded a bit more eagerly this time. 

And so they went back to the party. Skye continued to drink a good deal of eggnog, Coulson dressed as Santa, and, after about half an hour of wondering where Hunter and Bobbi had gone off to, Mack found the pair. In the hallway. In various states of undress. 

“Hey Simmons, come here,” Skye waved over, near the end of the party. “No, wait. That’s good. Fitz, go stand next to her. Wait, a little to the left,” Skye directed. “Oh look! You two are standing under the mistletoe!”

“Not subtle,” Trip laughed. 

“I trained you better,” May sighed. 

“Well,” Skye continued in an overly exaggerated voice. “I guess the old, boring, married couple has to kiss.”

Simmons rolled her eyes and leaned towards Fitz. 

“Just. Hold it there. Fitz, stop blushing. What, do you think we don’t know you two kiss? And have sex, for that matter. There’s a rather sizable bump that’s a total giveaway. No, that’s perfect. Where’s my… here it is!” Skye said excitedly, holding out her phone. “Say Merry Chrismukkah!”

Jemma ignored Skye and continued to kiss her slightly flustered husband. 

* * *

On the eighth night of Hanukkah, Skye gave them the picture. She had placed it in a frame that originally read: “Baby’s First Christmas.” Using what Jemma assumed was a glitter pen, Skye had changed it to “Chrismukkah.”

“I’m not sure this technically counts, since she won’t be born for a couple of months. And really, you shouldn’t encourage him,” Jemma said, hugging her friend. 

Fitz, on the other hand, deemed it perfect. 

Which was how the “Baby’s First Chrismukkah” frame ended up in the nursery. Simmons in her red and white Christmas jumper, Fitz in his blue and white Hanukkah one, kissing under some mistletoe. A large bump situated perfectly in between. 

About fifteen years later, Atty claimed it was gross. 

Jemma pointed out that it simply meant her parents love each other. Fitz maintained that it was perfect.


End file.
